Combat Alley (2007) (9 page)

She did not smile back. Her boyfriend, Maks, who was afraid of Marvesky, would beat the hell out of her if he heard about any flirtation with the gangster. And that would end with Marvesky either shooting Maks or beating him to death. Maks was a little fellow who was a clerk in public works and wouldn't stand a chance against the large, muscular Marvesky, who had been a champion weightlifter back in Russia. Maks was cute and she liked him, so the young woman decided any show of defiance toward Marvesky was up to her.

Her voice was coldly businesslike when she announced, Mr. Akloschenko said you were to go straight in when you arrived.

Spasebo, Marvesky said, winking again. He stepped through the door and closed it, giving a little wave to Akloschenko. Hello, Chief.

Hello, Pavel Dimitrovich, Akloschenko said. He shoved the papers he had been studying aside and gave his full attention to his caller. Sit down.

Thank you, Chief, Marvesky said. It is starting to get cold outside. Winter is just around the corner.

One season follows the other, Akloschenko remarked. What is going on out there?

Things look good, Marvesky replied. The Pashtuns are all set to plant in the early spring. I have made arrangements for transport to the new distribution spot in Dusanbe. An excellent warehouse has been obtained there, and we can keep the trucks in storage until needed.

Prevockodnie! Akloschenko said. They will be protected from the weather.

It is a sound structure, Marvesky assured him. Parts of it can be heated so there is no danger of the oil or lubrication getting too thick and stiff.

You have done well on your end, Akloschenko said. Just remember to keep the identity of our customer to yourself.

Of course, Chief.

Now I am ready to expand your responsibilities, Akloschenko said. This will include some very sensitive matters.

Marvesky, expecting this development, nodded. I suppose that will concern Yarkov and his boys, hey?

Exactly. Tell me, Pavel, what do you think of that fellow Surov who is in Yarkov's gang?

Marvesky thought for a moment. An ex-officer, as I recall. He held the rank of captain, I believe, when he ended up in prison for embezzling regimental funds to pay off loan sharks and gambling debts in Saint Petersburg.

Correct, Akloschenko said. Now tell me what you think of Luka Yarkov?

He is a natural leader, Marvesky said carefully, but not everywhere. In prison his toughness and ruthlessness worked well for him. The life inside was primitive and many times a matter of kill or be killed. He excelled in the dangerous existence. No doubt about that.

You are making a good point, Akloschenko said. But what about outside of prison? How do you think he has conducted himself thus far?

He is doing quite well up there in Logovishchyeh, Marvesky allowed. His men are both respectful and loyal toward him. He is able to carry out assignments quite efficiently. He was a praporschik a warrant officer in the Army. He thought a moment. He was under a death sentence for killing a soldier. He beat the life out of the guy. I do not recall the dead man's offense, except that it was considered rather trivial.

It would seem that Yarkov's efficiency goes to hell when he loses his temper, Akloschenko remarked.

Marvesky knew exactly what his boss was thinking. Perhaps he should be subordinated to Surov. He shook his head. Nyet! That could not happen. Yarkov would have to be eliminated.

It is early yet before the harvest and all the attending complications, Akloschenko said. But perhaps if you visited Logovishchyeh, you could sort of sound Surov out. You know what I mean; be subtle and try to discover how deep his loyalties are to Yarkov.

Marvesky smiled. I would think that since Surov was an officer he has resented having to serve a former subordinate. It makes sense that he would prefer to be the boss of that gang. But there is another problem you're not taking under consideration, Chief.

What's that?

Perhaps the other convicts would not accept Surov as their leader, Marvesky said. If you had Yarkov removed and put Surov in his place, those guys might decide to kill him.

Akloschenko laughed. Back in the old Soviet bureaucracy we would classify that as an adjustment of personnel status.

Chapter 7

SEALs BIVOUAC

20 OCTOBER

1000 HOURS

DIRK Wallenger used the notes he had made during the taping at the Janoon village to write out his latest presentation for broadcast. Since he would be unable to make a voice-over on the scenes he would have to rely on the editing people back in the Washington studio to match up his spiel with the correct sound bites. This unconventional method would have been irritating enough to the micromanaging journalist, but he also had to rely on unscheduled resupply flights to get his tapes back to Shelor Field for mailing to the States. That was one problem he hadn't envisioned when he first decided to get imbedded with a combat unit.

Now, fifty meters away from camp, Wallenger waited as Eddie lifted his camera into position. Okay, Dirk.

Right. Five ... Four... three... Two... One... Greetings from somewhere in Afghanistan, Wallenger began. The SEAL detachment known as Brannigan's Brigands is now on the ground and running, or perhaps I should say 'galloping' straight into their mission that has been dubbed Operation Combat Alley. Yesterday we went to a Pashtun village to become acquainted with the local natives, and had the very real pleasure of making friends with a group of exotic people who have inhabited this part of the world for eons. The Pashtuns are fascinating, and just happen to be the largest tribal society in the world today. Their actual origins are obscure and they refer to legends to mark the beginning of their existence, mingling historical fact with myth. They are a passionate people who do not hesitate to turn to violence to deal with disagreements with not only outsiders but their own kind within their many clans. Here, in this part of Afghanistan, there are seven tribes who share a history of peace and war in which temporary alliances and hostilities have whirled and mingled throughout their existence. He stopped speaking to refer to his notes.

Eddie relaxed, taking the camera from his shoulder. Man, oh man! I can't wait to see these tapes.

They'll have been broadcast many weeks before we get to see the final results of our efforts, Wallenger said. Okay. Let's roll again. He waited for the cameraman to get ready, then immediately took up where he left off. The Pashtuns live by a series of codes that reflect a male-dominated society. This set of laws demands that they be hospitable to strangers as well as strictly observant to matters of honor. This latter edict is what seems to lead to most of the violence in their lives, and informed sources here have told me that, for the most part, this involves matters between the sexes. Any disrespect to a woman, which can include even a casual glance, demands that the males of the family retaliate immediately and fiercely to maintain their honor. Note that I said their honor, not her honor. If a woman of their family engages in sinful conduct, she will be murdered by male relatives in an act termed an 'honor killing.'Accordingly, a woman who is raped must produce witnesses to testify that she resisted the assault with all her strength, or she too will be slain or ordered executed by a Muslim judge. Strangely enough, killings because of male-female issues do not have to be revenged. And, speaking of revenge, when custom demands it, the Pashtuns respond accordingly, setting up vendettas that can go on for generations. On a somewhat more civilized side, if a Pashtun submits himself to the mercy of another, begs to be forgiven for some wrong while humbling himself completely, the subject of his pleas is not only required to grant the requests but is expected to be generous about it. Go figure.

Eddie stopped taping as Wallenger signaled him to stop. I can make a few additional notes on this background shit to tape later. I must find the stuff I wrote about Doc treating that guy's cut arm. He fumbled through his papers. Ah! Here it is. Ready to go?

You bet.

The SEAL you see coming out of the hut with the injured man is Hospital Corpsman James Bradley, who is called 'Doc' by his comrades in arms. The village chief requested medical aid for this fellow being carried on the pallet, who had cut himself badly while butchering a goat. As you see, Corpsman Bradley has begun treating the man. This is a lifesaving situation, ladies and gentlemen, since the arm is infected and would eventually fester into full-blown gangrene. That, of course, means the patient would have died unless someone amputated the arm. That is hardly a surgical procedure that could be performed satisfactorily in this wilderness. What we are witnessing here is an unselfish act of kindness of one human being to another; in this case an American serviceman is ministering to a primitive Pashtun, literally saving his life before our eyes. Cut, Eddie.

That was good, Dirk.

Right, he said absentmindedly while he turned to his notes again. I'll do the sign-off now, then tomorrow I want to embellish some of this. Okay, here we go.

I'm ready, Eddie announced.

... Four... Five ... And so, ladies and gentlemen, you can see it's not all killing and maiming out here. Within the violence of war are small acts of kindness and charity that might be taken for granted back home, but are ever so meaningful out here on the war front. These incidents are like a few bright stars in a bleakly dark night. This is Dirk Wallenger, somewhere in Afghanistan, wishing you peace in a world gone mad. Cut!

This is getting better all the time, Eddie said. I'd be willing to bet your 'Somewhere in the War' series is going to get you not only an Emmy but a Pulitzer too, Dirk, if you also write a book. Think about making guest appearances on talk shows.

Wallenger smiled with pleasure at the thought. And I, of course, will remember my intrepid cameraman when I accept my accolades, kudos, and praises.

Your gratitude warms the cockles of my heart, Eddie said with a chuckle, knowing that as soon as they returned stateside, he would fade into obscurity in the same proportion that Wallenger's fame would grow.

As they walked back to the bivouac, Wallenger glanced over to see a couple of the SEALs giving their horses some exercise out in the open. Say, Eddie, do you suppose these guys were part of that massacre of those Brazilian villagers down in South America a year or so ago?

I don't know, Eddie said. I remember your report, but I wasn't down there with you.

Jim Cruiser did make that remark about Doc Bradley helping a sick child in South America, Wallenger reminded him.

He sure did, Eddie replied.

The thing kind of blew over, but it was obvious that someone massacred a village of men, women, and children in cold blood, Wallenger said. While I was at the scene, I interviewed a guy who claimed to be a witness. He said his wife and kids were shot down by American Green Berets during a dawn raid. He claimed the perpetrators included African and blond men who spoke English.

I saw the photographs you brought back, Eddie said. Those were dead civilians, no doubt. And, like you said, included women and kids. I recall there was a lot of rioting down there in South America when the story came out.

They found the guy I interviewed later in the uniform of a Fascist revolutionary army, Wallenger said. He had been killed in a battle and was pretty torn up. But he seemed to be the same guy.

Sometimes a corpse is hard to identify, Eddie pointed out. Especially if a violent death is involved. So there's always the chance it was somebody else.

Well, I'll tell you something, Wallenger said as they neared the bivouac. I'm going to snoop around and make some innocent-sounding inquiries among these Brigands.

It could amount to a significant scoop, Eddie opined.

.

THE SWATI VILLAGE

1530 HOURS

THE men of the hamlet had armed themselves to the extent that they wore extra bandoleers of magazines for their AK-47s crisscrossed over their torsos. Each weapon was fully locked and loaded with one round in the chamber. The women and children were inside the huts, lying on the floor, while a few of the bolder boys peered from the windows. The fighting men were unable to determine the exact number of weapon-toting unfriendlies approaching their community from off the steppes, but it was obvious the intruders badly outnumbered the locals.

The group of outsiders, made up of fifty Russians and seventy-five Pashtuns from the Mahsud tribe, came to within fifty meters of the village, forming a semicircle that covered it on three sides. Valentin Surov, accompanied by a Mahsud war leader named Dagar, rode forward to within twenty meters of the Swati community. The Russian called out, Salamat osey! We would speak with your malik!

What do you want to talk about? came a shout from the interior of the hamlet.